


Event Decay

by blackazuresoul



Category: Trinity Blood
Genre: Angst, Dark, Gen, Religious Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-13
Updated: 2012-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-09 22:06:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackazuresoul/pseuds/blackazuresoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Crusnik!Abel/Brother Petros - 'judge not, lest ye be judged, Inquisitor!’<br/>Slight AU [Animeverse]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Event Decay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seshats_prodigy (JennyB)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennyB/gifts).



Brother Petros woke up, groggy and blurred vision permitting him to see little in the smoke and debris. The great tank had been silenced, a piece of its turret laying a few feet from him. The taste of sulfur was on Petros' tongue and he moved the appendage in his mouth, sampling the remnants of blood and ash on his palate.  
  
As his sight became clearer, he honed in on the horrific being that hovered over the small forms of the Earl of Memphis and Sister Esther. The creature’s black wings folded behind and it reached out a bare arm toward the huddled pair, its red eyes intent on the pool of blood beneath Ion.  
Petros' hands curled in the rubble of the street as he tried to muster his strength. He had made a promise that he would be the Earl’s shield and halbred and as a Soldier of God, Petros would not renege on that vow. It was then that Esther screamed her command to the thing to keep away, addressing it as Father Nightroad.  
  
The soldier’s eyes widened with the revelation. It couldn’t be! While it was true that the fiend wore the vestments of an A.X. member, Petros had a difficult time believing this thing and Father Nightroad were one in the same.  
The creature backed away from Esther and Ion then let out an unworldly howl in a tongue that Petros didn’t comprehend and went to its knees, clawed hands digging through flowing silver hair to clutch at its head. Petros rubbed his face as he craned his neck and he managed himself to hands and knees but not before Esther had fled the scene with the injured Earl.  
  
Petros shook his head clear and stumbled to his feet, his eyes never leaving the lamenting being a few metres away. Using the wall of a building for support, Petros leaned against the crumbling brick. He quickly scanned the area. The block was destroyed and the tank that Radu had been piloting was in flames, likely carrying the vampire back to hell where he belonged. The soldier idly mused that it was just as well and one less he and Cardinal Francesco’s Department of Inquisition would need to forever silence.  
  
The air crackled with energy such as would follow an electrical storm and Petros took in a breath, scenting the veil of ozone that hung beneath the ash. Dropping his shoulder, he released the heavy jetpack from his back and the sound of it hitting the ground raised the fiend’s red eyes in his direction. Attempting to further clear his mouth, Petros spit away from him and pulled his arm across his lips, blue-grey eyes locked onto his possible nemesis. He didn’t know how he’d defend himself, should the creature attack, but it was his sworn duty as the Right Hand of God to die in the defence of His Holy Will. He’d lost his lance _Screamer_ days prior, while fighting Abel Nightroad, and if indeed this abomination was the good priest, then the _Arcanum Cella Ex Dono Dei_ had a lot to answer for.  
  
“God will guard me,” Brother Petros confidently declared and took a step away from the wall, noting the painful pull in his right leg which he ignored and pointed an armoured finger toward the Crusnik. “Rise, sacrilege. Rise and accept the judgement God Himself has laid upon you.” Petros took another step, hands raised before him as he crouched in preparation of an offensive. “I shall deliver you unto His hands!” As the Crusnik stood to his full height, Petros held his ground, though his mind was a jumble of memories that harkened back to days at school then the time when he accepted his appointment to the Department of Inquisition. He had been knighted by Pope Gregorio XXX and swore to protect His Holiness’ life; a solemn vow that had passed over to his son and successor, Alessandro XVIII.  
  
The deep voice of the Crusnik rose over the crackling mortar and the popping fire, his wings flexing as the tip of his tongue absconded with a solitary drop of the Earl’s blood. He had had his fill but greed for more of the sweet essence had driven Abel to draw closer to the injured Ion. He was ashamed that, once again, his baser instincts had taken precedent over his logical self.  
Abel lifted his outstretched hand to recall the scythe to his body and the chrystalised blood fragmented to be absorbed through his skin.  
The nanomachines raced through the Crusnik’s blood, repairing superficial tissue damage; finishing the job of restoring the left arm. “You dare judge me, Inquisitor? You are a little late for such inquest.”  
  
Petros remained vigilant. God would indeed be his shield in troubled times, or would call him home. The Word would safeguard him!  
“Nevertheless, Father Abel Nightroad– if that is truly who you are– no amount of penance to the Almighty could wipe away one blemish of this, this abomination on your unfortunate soul. “ _So then every one of us shall give account of himself to God_ ”,” Petros declared before choking on the hold the Crusnik pressed around his throat. The red of Hades bore through the soldier’s gaze and Abel’s sanguine breath sought to rob him of his reason.  
  
Claws curled around the human’s delicate neck and Abel’s black lips tore away from one another to flash sharp fangs that caught the guttering fires, their heat licking at the Crusnik’s back. “ “ _Be ye afraid of the sword: for wrath bringeth the punishments of the sword, that ye may know there is a judgment._ ”,” he intoned. His grip tightened around Petros' throat then loosened and dropped away. The nanomachines in Abel’s body began their hasty retreat and their activation declined. He felt his wings fold in amongst themselves to vanish and Abel took a further step back from the Knight, the red of his eyes growing dim as he looked down at his bare hand.  
Petros fell into a series of deep coughs as he fought the burn in his throat. His eyes watered and through the opague sheen of reflex tears, he saw the beast further retreat inside its host, Abel’s hair falling about his shoulders as he continued to back away. “Now you know how my sins have marked me,” Abel murmured then turned away from Petros, drew the tatters of his coat around him and walked through the rubble and smoke of fallen machinery.


End file.
